Exposure
by rhetoricfemme
Summary: Haruhi had only come over with the intent of having some lighthearted fun. Instead she finds herself testing the boundaries of quiet affections and personal relationships. Regardless of whatever subtext you apply to it, this fic is a story of mutual pining between close friends.


To most people, Haruhi's laughter is contagious. That velvet bell that rings pure and amused from somewhere deep in her heart, so much so that other people cannot help but get pulled along with it.

But not Hikaru.

He watches her now, rain-drenched and oh so pleased with herself when Kaoru pushes her through the veranda doors. The twins share so many things about who they are and what they do, though the cadence of their laughters is not one of them. Where Hikaru's amusement bubbles out of his chest, more often than not Kaoru's comes out as a pleasant trill. Much like it does now.

"Haruhi." Kaoru giggles in his attempt to sound stern, all the while picking at the soaked shirt stuck to her arms. "You're a verifiable mess!"

"So're you." She retorts, eyebrow quirked toward the sky. "You're the one who wanted to show me the gardens, so your ass is to blame for not checking the forecast."

Hikaru looks on, arms crossed as he stands off to the side, shaking his head.

"Well, someone's gotta take responsibility." He mutters, his words dry. "Kaoru can take care of himself. Haruhi, c'mon."

"I'm fine, Hikaru." She looks at him then, chocolate brown eyes curious and expectant. "Really."

"No. Not if you catch a cold you're not."

Cradling her elbow, Hikaru looks down at her with subtle amusement, trying not to allow the mirth he feels shine through. He's in love with this strange girl, all made up of bird bones and ferocity. Even if she's decided to be with somebody else.

Some days he finds it better not to laugh with her, as it's simply one of those casual, taken-for-granted intimacies he doesn't need to rub in his own face. Where Haruhi is concerned, Hikaru takes nothing for granted, though he does pick and choose the ways in which he exposes his heart.

And so he guides her now, one friend helping another, and directs her toward his mother's atelier.

"You know the way." He drawls, opening the door and pointing inside. "You know my mom. She's got something for everyone and everything in the dressing room, so help yourself."

The moments pass by quietly, and so it goes when Hikaru's thoughts are interrupted by the opening of the atelier door. Haruhi emerges, wet clothes bundled in her arms while she stares at him appreciatively.

"Thanks, Hikaru."

"Leave it to you to find the only pair of jeans in there." His voice is low, his words gentle when he pulls the oversized sweater back onto her shoulder. "C'mon, Haruhi."

She looks good like this. The jeans lay close to her in a way Ouran's male uniform never could, and just like that he's reminded of how small Haruhi really is. Even if he's one of the few people close enough to have stayed by her after school, Hikaru is certain he'll never get over all of her beguiling feminisms.

The sweater falls away from her shoulder yet again, though this time Hikaru chooses to leave it there. An oversized boatneck, its cut working with powder blue chenille to transform the delicate slope of her collarbone into something less innocent; for him something constantly desirable.

"I'll have these back in a few days." She promises.

"Keep them."

They're walking now, headed down a hallway leading to the Hitachiin family's personal quarters. Hikaru stops short of his own bedroom, leading them into his and Kaoru's shared bathroom, instead. Haruhi steps to the side while Hikaru rummages in a vanity drawer, waiting patiently while he extracts a brush or two, and at last a hairdryer. He plugs in the dryer at the same time that his foot pushes a cushioned chair toward Haruhi, and she sits with an indulgent smile.

She always enjoys when Hikaru does her hair. He knows this because she's told him so.

Opening her mouth to protest keeping Yuzuha's clothes, Haruhi finds herself abruptly drowned out by the heat and blare of the dryer. They both know how obstinate she can be, and so she continues talking.

"What was that?" Hikaru asks, making the blowdryer louder. "I can't hear you, Haru, you'll have to speak up."

She waits, lips pursed around words and a smile. "I was just saying how society and business can be so suffocating."

"Oh yeah? So far it's worked pretty good for me."

Giving a slight nod, she hesitates before going on. "So many rules, though. Old rules for dying generations who probably weren't all that happy in their prime, anyway."

"Go on." He'd listen to her recite cake recipes for Hani, though right now she admittedly has his intrigue.

"It's in our poetry, even." She continues. "Anyone who dared live their happiness usually also did it in strict privacy. Or hiding. Why does it have to be so difficult?"

"Mm, but who can resist a challenge?"

"Do what you want, I say." Haruhi obliges Hikaru as he gently guides her head forward, and she keeps on talking over the much quieter din of the hairdryer. "Wear what you want. Do whatever fulfills you. Love who you wanna love, whether that's one, two or more."

"Yeah…"

They go quiet for a moment, the sound of the hairdryer taking up the space between them. It's par the course that Hikaru run his fingers through her hair; muscle memory recalling the sweet fringe at the back of her neck that hasn't been there since high school. It isn't much longer now, but long enough.

He twists mahogany locks loosely around his knuckles while looking Haruhi over. She's still bent at the neck for him, and Hikaru can't help but notice the grip she now keeps on each side of the chair.

Hikaru barely hears it when she whispers.

"I mean, when your own heart already feels so invasive, why should it be anyone else's business, anyway?"

"Mm." Touch-starved knuckles run down her nape, then tap gently indicating they're done. "You're awfully talkative all of a sudden."

It's not Haruhi smiling so shyly that gets to Hikaru, but that she allows him to see it. It's anyone's guess how long he can go on like this, because dammit if he wouldn't do anything for her…

"Just thinking out loud, is all."

"Hm." Perhaps ironically, at the moment this is the best Hikaru has to give. "Maybe you should think aloud more often."

His hands rest on the back of the chair, and Haruhi stands. They clean up together, and it gives her a chance to watch both of them through the mirrored vanity.

"I'm trying."

They trek slow, as it's only a short distance to the door. His hand hovering over the light switch, Hikaru looks down at Haruhi. Nodding sympathetically, he shuts off the light.

"I know."


End file.
